Sorrow Nonetheless
by Numantina
Summary: Am H/H fic, in the form of a letter written by Hermione to her cousin and Muggle friend. Lots of jealousy, angst, four-syllable words, and references o Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibility. Inspired by a diary entry.


Sorrow Nonetheless

A/N: This is actually a real entry in my, er, diary. Depression always leads me to writing extensive compositions while studying for complex, four-syllable words. (You'll have to excuse this.) Upon completion of this entry I read it again, and with surprise noted that Hermione could write the very same thing if she were to hold deep affection for Harry, and if Cho were to suddenly return Harry's attachment. I have changed very few things, like the names (i.e. Time magazine to Witch Weekly), and adjusted some personality-concerned stuff. But essentially it's the same To clear a few things up: This letter was supposedly written before the start of seventh year, in which, as Mio will tell you soon, Hermione will be going to Beauxbatons. Emma is her Muggle friend, or maybe cousin, whom she trusts more than anyone else. Lavender has access to a phone in this one, by the way.

Disclaimer: The characters used below belong to Mrs J. K. Rowling. Some quotes are taken from books, like the second paragraph and last sentence being from my favourite tome. Also, there are a few references to Sense and Sensibility, a first novel by my favourite author. The idea of sending Hermione to Beauxbatons belongs to some author, the name of whom I forgot. 

Sorrow Nonetheless

My dearest confidante Emma, 

I'm ever so sorry to have written only now; personal issues that will later in this message be related to you were the cause of such a delay. In advance I must apologise; in my consternation and hurry (I must leave for King's Cross today) I cannot arrange my sentences properly, and you will have to content yourself with my influent accounts.

Sorrow comes. A gentle, somewhat baseless sorrow, but sorrow nonetheless. 

I have received news from a reliable, though fairly perverted, source, that Cho Chang has begun to accumulate a certain interest in my best friend, Harry Potter. For the previous twelvemonths I have written you enough letters regarding the two of them and Harry's unrequited passion for the older, dark-haired girl, for you to be aware of my hidden animosity for her and my feelings for him. Surely you know what this new bit of information means?

Grief is beyond expression. Someone unfamiliar with the events of the last year concerning Harry, Cho and myself will doubtless not comprehend the tumult of my emotions and the reasons I have for having sobbed at the telephone when I was speaking with my informer. (She, of course noticed, but attributed my tears to the picture show I was viewing at the moment; deep, sincere concern for another is atypical of Miss Lavender Brown, who began speaking of highly lascivious articles in _Witch Weekly _after telling me.) You of course are one of the lucky few who are unaware of all that, and I am sorry to say that your ignorance must no longer be. Or at least your unawareness of the full gravity of my situation must dissipate, for I am not in proper humour to recount all those important affairs in the previous year in good detail, for they pain me. Very much. 

I will be vague in my account, then; this may occasion you with more than slight surprise, but Harry _knows _of my feelings. Misses Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, my insufferable roommates, had told him so. Fortunately Harry did not seem to mind at all, and my fears that this would destroy our completely platonic acquaintance were assuaged when he did not react very drastically to it. I assume this was so because Harry, whom as you know is the most famous wizard below twenty alive, is so very used to having girls obsessing over himself. He finds it annoying, but it does not bother him so very greatly as to be repulsed at me for liking him so. (Though he did ask, with a rather joking look to his countenance, why I would regard him so affectionately. Needless to say I could not answer.) I've not told you this—I mean Harry's knowledge of my fondness—for shame of my carelessness of keeping such an important piece of information to myself; I had been so obvious in my admiration as to have unconsciously informed my giddy dorm mates of my regard. Now I must apologise to _you _for having kept it a secret from the best friend that ever walked the planet. 

Still, thanks to the babbling mouths of Parvati and Lavender, the whole school knows of my affections. It was quite humiliating, and I will not give you details as to how greatly I suffered, for merely thinking of it pains me so much I can barely breathe properly. 

To make matters worse, this was the very year Harry had finally (though I suspect not very fluently) told Cho of his feelings for her. Cho was very much flattered, indeed, but told him in no uncertain terms that she did not return his attraction. Harry, who (bless him) had told me that he had not expected her to anyway, had bid her good-bye (she graduated almost immediately after) with a saddened heart, though one expectant of sure recovery. Privately, I confess, I had been rather glad at the assurance of Cho's not liking Harry the same way, but it was so very selfish of me to feel so, and I did not acknowledge such emotions any further. 

I must end these recollections here. I am on the verge of casting a potentially dangerous curse on myself and, wishing to avoid injury that may prevent me from going on the exchange student trip, am to inform you of how Lavender Brown found out and called me right before term started instead. As you know, Harry's godfather and my very good friend, Sirius Black, has offered to take my beloved under his wing by adopting him. Fortunately for Harry and unfortunately for me, they had taken residence in a village called Godric's Hollow, in an abode very close to the Changs', which in turn rested near the Brown residence. Lavender, being the very sly, artful gossiper she is, somehow received news of this very personal sort.

This whole thing should occasion me not too much distress, for I am, as you very well know, going on an exchange trip to another magical institute along with (to my repulsion) Draco Malfoy for the next two semesters (supposedly my—_our _final ones in a magical school). —Thus I am not going to have too many opportunities to see and pine after my best friend again until a very long spell has passed, for I am to attend magical grad school for the next few twelvemonths. (In fact there is an immense possibility that we may never meet again, for regrettably the closeness in our friendship has started to fade. Of not seeing him too oft I am not too sorry, for separation as such might be useful in dissipating my romantic regard of him.) But I, as a girl of that age in which feminine emotions and proper sense begin to appear antonymous, am afraid that it indeed does. I had long hoped, as anyone in love does wish of his or her beloved, that he, namely Harry, would return my affections. He had clearly no intention of doing so, and though I have to admit that this caused (and does cause) a great deal of agony, I have grown, though rather gradually, to accept it. Still at times of great desperation I cannot help but wish that one day, when I am tall and slim and have long glorious hair (all this the work of perhaps a year of studying magical beauty) he would notice me and finally esteem me; for a lovely appearance is all that is wanting of me. 

That is of course in _his_ standard of perfection. Cho is his idea of impeccable; of this I have no doubt. Therefore I think I am correct in saying that outward beauty is the only thing wanting; after all, Cho is very like me in behaviour. Her conceit and mine are very much there and alike, are they not? She thinks very highly of herself, and I do as well. (This conclusion comes from other individuals' comments, for obviously any conceited person is not aware of his or her conceit. However the part of my conscience that I from years of experience have learned to recognise as the most just, unprejudiced one has told me that I am rather vainglorious.) Cho and I are both great academic achievers and artists (though she is more esteemed than I am in those categories not for the actual amount of talent but for her physique). Her physical flexibility and capabilities in sports my extensive knowledge of various topics and impressive literary work, judging from my peers and age, makes up for. (I beg you not to judge this as a semblance of conceit, as this corollary was likewise derived from the fair part of my brain. Compared with writing of others my age, is not what I put to paper considerably more expressive and eloquent than theirs?) 

I shall arrive at my point very soon. Please be patient with this so emotionally oppressed of hearts. (A/N I wrote that, yes, and it perhaps needed removal, but I couldn't take it out. Sorry!)

If I look at it in a sensible prospect, I will surely admit that I have no more chances of a romantic relationship with him, what with the best friend thing and the fact that I'm not sure if I'll ever see him again. I had failed to contort myself into his conviction of supremacy, and must deal with the pains such negligence of chief pursuits brings. But the romantic, insensible, Marianne-esque part of me refuses to lose hope of ever winning his heart, and keeps telling me that someday he will love me for who I am. 

The frail hopes of such are dashed by the information of the mutuality of Harry's and Cho's affections. This is immensely pathetic of me, but with her as my rival, I stand as much of a chance with Harry as a snowball has in the fiery tongues of the Underworld. Did that make sense, dearest Emma? I, so famous for my rationality and easy composure, suddenly feel I may go insane. Embittered, I had found myself earlier today, while preparing my things for my year at Beauxbatons School, crying inconsolably and violently throwing Harry's framed picture, which was before so loved and treasured, against the wall. It was done so vehemently that the glass had shattered and the Harry in this moving wizard picture was cut in half, as well as the frame itself and the backing. 

It is amazing that the whole point of this excruciatingly long letter was stated in just one paragraph; the one above. For this I must apologise—you could have just read that section above without enduring the rest of the letter. 

Dear friend, what am I to do? I never before knew the meaning of inconsolable', and this personal experience to show me its definition is not exactly one I am very fond of enduring. It is not as violent and angry an emotion as a broken heart (which I had regrettably experienced before), but I feel is merely a deep sadness no amount of reproach against the supposed offender or consolation from anyone can subside.

Dear God, Emma, if you could see me now I am but a lovesick fool, something I had resolved as a child never to fall prey to be! Am I so jealous of Cho as to be so mortified at the prospect, at the mere _thought _of what she and Harry might do when I am gone to grad school? For there is no guarantee at all that they _will _get together But the biting possibilities make me extremely uneasy. Jealousy, perhaps, other than depression, is the most prominent of my emotions. I did not care at all when Parvati and Lavender shared this crush on Harry, but knowing of Cho Chang's feelings is somehow different. Why is that? Perhaps it is because Harry likes her too... Why is it that I am relieved as to not have to face Harry on the train today? Oh, how pathetic you must think me! I know, because I myself think I am pitiable and wretched. Abandoning my study for four-syllable words, _why am I making such a big deal out of this_? 

Lavender Brown, immediately after informing me of Cho Chang's change of heart (and this before the excruciating excerpts from her magazines), had asked me what I thought of it. Assuming a voice of forced calm I tried to put to words with what emotions I regarded it, besides dejection and fervent hopes that Harry's fondness of her had not survived the past year

Harry is just too great a boy, that it is impossible for any girl to really hate him. Even Slytherin (the supposed evil' house here) females would agree to that. What else would you look for in a person? He's thoughtful, and modest (too modest sometimes, actually), brave, heroic, and naturally intelligent; and his occasional reserve stems only from deep oppression rather than an insult to propriety or any intrinsic gloominess of temper. And despite of my deep repulsion of the girl, I really don't want to blame Miss Chang for liking him, even though she is unwittingly destroying every prospect of happiness for me in the future. In fact I wonder why she did not want him before. --He is so perfect, despite all his flaws, that the good opinion of everyone of his disposition is justified. If you yourself were to meet him, Emma, have no doubt that you will instantly take a liking to him. 

I am increasingly sorry that Lavender told me of this at all, for I could have lived without hearing it as you could have lived without taking pains to read this letter. Thanks ever so much for perusing it for me, and I will thank you in advance for your reply, for I know your disposition so well as to be sure that you will send me one as soon as possible. And you will no doubt have your say in this matter. Emma, please do write to me, and make me comfortable again 

Your friend, 

Hermione Granger

A/N: I am well aware that very few people talk like that. I do, and there's nothing you can do about it! ::pouts insolently:: Frankly, I do not care if anyone appreciates this or not. It was not an effort at a fic to begin with, and you mustn't blame me if it is so very bad. Review or don't review -- but I do prefer the former. 


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